


To Remind You

by Mistystarshine



Series: Tokyo Ghoul Horror Week [2]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 10:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5087371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistystarshine/pseuds/Mistystarshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haise may not know it, but he is surrounded by answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Remind You

**Author's Note:**

> For day two of Tokyo Ghoul Horror Week! The theme was 'torture' and I got a little abstract with it. Oh well. I'm dedicating this to Fineinthemorning, since you write many wonderful things that bring me joy. Go you!

Just because you couldn’t see something didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Just because he didn’t remember his past didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. It surrounded him, not just in all those secrets and other unspoken things, but in feelings. Emotional, yes, but physical as well. Little phantom pains that tore, burned, demanded his attention and made him wonder if he _really_ wanted to know the past he was so curious about. In a way, he had to. He both was and wasn’t Sasaki Haise, and until he found answers he would stay caught in this in-between state. But what had happened to cause all the little reminders that haunted him today? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

* * *

_The answers were in his fingers._

Morning meant a cup of coffee and preparing himself for the day. He wrapped his fingers around the warm mug, only to find himself stopping. Staring. It was just his fingers, nothing he hadn’t seen before. But for a moment… for a moment he thought he could feel a sting. Feel a sting, feel a cut, feel a _clip_. For a moment the fingers were different fingers with different colored fingernails.

For a moment, he wondered how many fingers he had had by now.

Haise shrugged it off. It was alarming in nature, but then again, so was he. Bringing attention to it would be more trouble than it was worth.

 _The answers were in his hair._  

Hours later and he found time for a break in the afternoon. If he were a different person he would may have said that it was another monotonous work day. But he was no one but himself, and no day was monotonous for him. Monotony meant some sense of stability. So little around him was truly _stable_. Besides, monotony meant boredom, and how could he ever be bored with the quinx around.

But maybe, if he were a different person.

A lock of hair freed itself from its confinement behind his ear and dropped in front of his face. He was only able to get a glimpse of the tip, but that glimpse was still enough to trigger a strange, or maybe not so strange, thought. The hair was too dark. It should be… white? No. That was wrong too. _Darker_ , it should be darker. (Maybe that person would have been able to use the word ‘monotony’.)

He brushed it back into place.

_The answers were in his eyes._

The eyes were the worst of all. In the evening he had to make a momentary retreat to his room, the pain forcing his actions rather than the actions triggering it. It wasn’t an odd thought, a trick of the light, or mild ache. This was a dull but constant throb right behind his eyes, reaching into his brain and occasionally strengthening to the point that it felt like it may be something stabbing.

Haise knew it would pass soon enough. It always did. Until then, all he could do was ride through it, as he’d done several times before. After all, he wasn’t _always_ capable of excusing himself when it popped up. Hopefully, this one wouldn’t take very long. Sometimes ‘soon enough’ wasn’t very soon at all. On those times, the worst of times, he would close his eyes and swear he saw a familiar silhouette. 

 _The answers were in his dreams._  

He thought that the eyes were the worst of it. They weren’t. The worst wasn’t physical. The worst was when he would fall asleep and images would flood his mind. People found, people lost. People he had hurt. People he had killed. People he had failed to protect. People who made him wonder if they were waiting for him or had forgotten him, just like he forgot them most of the time. Sometimes the images had faces. Sometimes they even had names.

So many names. So many faces.

All were gone by morning.

* * *

What did it all mean? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But he knew that one day he would find out, and truth be told, that terrified him.


End file.
